The fortress swallowed her the moment she stepped inside. The marble halls gleamed under dim chandeliers, cold and pristine, every surface polished until it reflected fragments of her face back at her. She felt multiplied, fractured, like even the walls wanted to remind her she didn't belong here whole.
Damian walked ahead, his stride sure, predatory. His jacket was already gone, loosened in the car, and the stark white of his shirt clung to his frame. Elara trailed him reluctantly, the hem of her gown brushing the polished floor like a whisper of rebellion.
At the grand staircase, he stopped. Turned. His gaze locked on her with the weight of command.
"Upstairs," he said simply.
Her stomach tightened. She wanted to refuse, to plant her feet and demand answers, but his eyes were steel. She climbed, each step heavy, until they reached the room at the top—a chamber lit only by the fire roaring in the hearth. Shadows stretched across the walls like grasping hands.
Damian closed the door behind them with a click that echoed in her bones.
Elara turned, her hands trembling. "Why are you doing this? Tonight wasn't enough?"
His expression didn't change, but his voice dropped, smooth and dangerous. "Tonight proved you can perform. But performance is not devotion. I want to see what lies beneath the mask."
Her chest rose and fell, shallow and fast. "And if all you find is hate?"
His smirk curved, slow, unbothered. "Hate burns just as hot as desire."
He crossed the room, each step deliberate, until the firelight carved shadows across his face. Elara backed away instinctively, her spine pressing against the carved post of the bed. Damian stopped inches from her, his presence a wall of heat and control.
He reached out, fingers brushing her jaw, tilting her face toward him. The touch was almost tender, but his eyes stripped her bare. "When you lied for me tonight," he murmured, "you weren't just surviving. You were claiming me, in front of them all."
Her throat tightened. "I didn't claim you. I betrayed myself."
Damian leaned closer, his lips grazing her ear, his breath hot against her skin. "And didn't it thrill you?"
Elara's body betrayed her with a violent shiver. Her mind screamed no, but the way her pulse leapt under his touch betrayed a darker truth. She hated that he saw it. Hated that he always saw it.
His hand slid down to her waist, firm, unyielding. He pulled her closer, her body colliding with his. The fire crackled, sparks leaping as if echoing the tension between them.
"Every time you resist me," Damian whispered, "you only bind yourself tighter. You think your defiance weakens me, but it feeds me. And deep down, you crave the chain. You crave me."
Elara's breath hitched, her fists curling at her sides. She wanted to scream denial, to shove him away, but his nearness stole the words from her lips.
Finally, her voice broke through, hoarse and raw. "You're wrong. I'll never belong to you."
Damian's smile was dark, dangerous, filled with a confidence that chilled her. "You already do. Belonging isn't declared, Elara—it's proven."
His lips claimed hers then, a kiss that was fire and frost at once. It wasn't gentle. It wasn't asking. It was consuming, demanding, his hand tangling in her hair as he deepened the assault.
Elara gasped against his mouth, torn between fury and something far more dangerous. Her hands pressed against his chest, not pushing, not pulling—just trembling in the liminal space of surrender and rebellion.
When he finally broke the kiss, his breath was ragged, his forehead resting against hers. His voice was low, intimate, devastating.
"Every step you take away from me only brings you closer. Every no you speak drags you deeper into my yes. And when the fire consumes you, little dove, you won't burn alone—you'll burn with me."
Elara's eyes stung with unshed tears. Her body still shook, her lips raw from his kiss. And in the firelight, with Damian's hands still on her, she realized the most terrifying truth of all:
The chains were no longer just around her body. They were winding into her soul.